The Legend of Bones McCoy
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Having beamed down to a dusty frontier planet, McCoy is in his element. But then Jim gets in trouble (naturally) and between a gunfight, kidnapping, whiskey and saloon girls, one thing leads to the next. Lots of BAMF!McCoy, Cowboy!Trio, Bones is a BAMF gentleman. Rated T for colorful language and violence.
1. Welcome to Tripoint, Partner

**A/N: Howdy, everyone! Been waiting to do a western on this site, and I'm finally leaping to it! As for the situation with 'Three Heroes' I'm waiting for my inspiration/motivation to return so I've posted the deal with it on my profile. For now, I'm appeasing my brain with this. This chapter does a lot with scene-setting, so we haven't hit the main action yet, but I'm sure it'll still suck you in. I don't own Star Trek! Enjoy!**

* * *

It was fortunate that the ship's computers could turn out almost anything. This made blending into a particular society fairly easy- aside from learning the various customs and ways, if it was simply another observation mission (such as this) precluding First Contact, all that was necessary was the proper attire. The computers had provided before 19th century clothing, Nazi uniforms, native hide-skins, and essentially anything that one programmed in. As it was very important that contamination be avoided and the Prime Directive sustained during an observation mission, dressing appropriately was a must, even if it led to some of the weirder outfits.

Kirk maintained his dignity as he strode down the halls of his ship. Even with his chaps, boots, loose shirt and hat, his walk and manner reminded the crewmen that he was _still_ the captain… and that whispers had better be kept to a minimum.

It wasn't the worst outfit he'd had to parade in. Heck, he had walked the halls shirtless several times before. But this felt a little too much like a costume for his taste. Wasn't the gun holster too much?

He entered the transporter room and quickly swallowed a laugh. Mr. Spock stood inside, and the Vulcan looked so out of place in the jacket and cowboy hat that Kirk couldn't help it.

"Well, Mr. Spock," he addressed, trying not to let his amusement show. "You seem prepared to meet the people."

"It is important that we remain discreet and do not attract attention," Spock replied stiffly. "Therefore, this is necessary."

A light grin touched Kirk's face as he found the problem. "They chafe, don't they?" He rubbed his hands along his own pants and chaps.

"Typical of uniforms fresh from the replicator," was all Spock said.

The doors swooshed open and they turned as McCoy joined them. The doctor was the only one who seemed comfortable in what they were wearing- probably because some of the clothing was his. Kirk recognized the boots, hat and shirt. While McCoy was the only one of them without a holster (for cleverly-disguised phasers) he did have on a vest. He opened one side of it and revealed a med-kit strapped to the inside.

"Took a while to get that thing to stay."

"Well, Bones, you look right at home," Kirk commented as the doctor walked onto the transporter pad with them. "Did you attract any stares at all?"

McCoy gave him a strange look. "No, of course not. Why, did you?"

"By every crewman we passed, it seems," Kirk mentioned, facing forward.

McCoy just shrugged as Kirk gave the order to energize. Kyle activated the transporter, and the men quickly beamed down to the dusty planet below.

* * *

Drius III was the name of the planet, but everyone on the _Enterprise_ had quickly dubbed it 'Sandy'. This was easy to see from in orbit as vast deserts covered a lot of the planet, but up close it was much more meaningful.

"Yup. Out in the middle of nowhere," McCoy commented.

"Not quite, Doctor. Beyond that ridge is a small frontier town. Considering the lack of adequate structures and landmarks to beam down behind, out of sight, this had to do."

"So we're up for a short walk in the sun, gentlemen," Kirk translated. "I hope everyone's comfy in his boots."

The desert spanned all around. It was gritty and rock strewn. Further off, some mesas and cliffs rose, but it was much too far to walk if they had beamed down over there- not without transport in this heat. Scraggly bushes eeked out of the cracks in the parched ground. Only a lazy breeze stirred the dust floating up from their trotting feet.

The town leapt into sight the moment they topped the small ridge. It was settled out on the flat plain, and only the whinny of horses and clatter of everyday life gave any indication of civilization. The three men quickly and eagerly headed for shelter and shade.

Kirk was feeling the heat and dryness much more than Spock and McCoy. Spock seemed suited for the atmosphere and McCoy also didn't seem too bothered- then again, they both grew up in hot climates. Iowa wasn't exactly tropical.

"This looks like something out of the Old West," he commented, taking off his hat to wipe his brow.

"Indeed," Spock replied. "The dress and architectural design are remarkably similar. If this is anything like an Earth parallel, I believe you will be able to find refreshments in that location, Captain."

Spock pointed towards a popular building that had music playing out from the swinging doors.

"It's called a saloon, Spock," McCoy corrected in his usual way. "And it sounds mighty fine to me. Why don't we get you inside, Jim, before you pass out from heatstroke?"

"Really, I'm fine," Kirk protested, but McCoy just grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, Spock following closely.

Cigar smoke and alcohol permeated the air. Several groups of men were seated around the small tables, though a few couples were dancing near where a man was playing an old fashioned piano. Two other saloon girls were leaning against the bar counter, fanning themselves lazily. Since there was no air-conditioning, it was just as hot inside.

Kirk was just happy to be out of direct sunlight. He twisted and saw McCoy grinning at the scene. "Why, Jim, it looks like somethin' straight out of a western movie!" he exclaimed, eyes flicking across the saloon in delight. "Have you ever seen such a sight?"

"Yes," Kirk said. "And I'd prefer not to remember that little encounter in Tombstone."

McCoy shook his head fondly. "Well, this is the real deal- no half-finished play sets muckin' up everything." He spied an empty table and headed for it, followed by the others. "Jim, sit down here. Spock, you can watch him to make sure he won't stroke out, alright? I'll go and get us some refreshments."

"Doctor," Spock called. "What do you have in means of payment?"

McCoy grinned and pulled out a small sack. "This is an Earth-parallel, right?" When Spock nodded he continued. "Somewhere up along the McCoy line I had a great-grandaddy who saved a lotta money under the mattress. Well, he forgot about it, and it was dug up later after it was all useless. But they were real vintage coins! They got passed down the generations and I had a few with me up on the _Enterprise_. And before you say it, no, Spock, I am not about to squander away a family heirloom on some drinks. I had the computer replicate them before we left. An' here they are!"

"Doctor," Spock began. "Paying with counterfeit-"

"It's not counterfeit!" McCoy retorted stubbornly. "It's as real as one can get- besides, these people wouldn't know the difference. I'm… boosting their currency." He held up a hand to stave the upcoming argument. "We can talk about it later. An' I made sure to match it exactly as down here. Now, what do you want to drink?"

Spock requested water, but Kirk wanted to try some of the stronger stuff. McCoy agreed and moved off to make the necessary purchases.

"Well, what do you think of all this so far?" Kirk asked Spock.

Spock folded his hands and contemplated. "It is a distinct parallel of Earth's 'Wild West' period. However, it will be interesting to see what original qualities have been seeped into the planet, considering that this type of environment is widespread."

"Agreed," Kirk mentioned. He was about to continue when a young lady- she appeared to work at the saloon- plopped down in the seat next to him.

"Well, howdy!" she greeted cheerfully in a heavy accent. "I ain't see you around… are y'all from out of town?"

"Yes," Kirk said, flashing his classic smile. "We've been traveling a long way. May I ask what town this is? We didn't see a sign when we entered."

She sighed heartily. "That's because the weather an' Cutler gang claimed it. Poor sign got riddled so full of holes that the next windstorm went an' knocked it down. Nobody had the heart to replace it. But surely y'all have heard of Tripoint?"

They glanced at each other. "I am afraid not," Spock answered.

"Well, can't say I'm surprised," she huffed. "It used to be called Timber-somethin'-or-other, but then we had severe deforestation. Lucky us, we're still located between three big honkin' cities, so we make on our livin' as a veritable stoppin' point. I ain't surprised at all you travelers are takin' a rest here."

"Well, thank you," Kirk said, the smile still playing on his face. "What's your name?"

"Hm? Oh, Allie Mae, sweetie." She tossed her boa scarf over her shoulder.

"That's very beautiful," Kirk complimented. "Fitting for a beautiful woman."

Allie Mae glanced at him suspiciously. "Sure. But it's one heck of a complication to explain that it's s'posed to be separate. It's 'Allie' and then 'Mae'. Not some Alliemae jacked combination."

"Of course," Kirk replied smoothly. "Say, my friends and I are looking for a place to stay for a couple nights. Do you-"

He was suddenly cut off when Allie Mae slapped him. "Listen, you skin-deep, devil-slime, diamond-backer! I see what game you're playin' an' I ain't havin' ANY of it. So you just shut yer trap before I shut it fer ya, or worse, get my pa ta shut right closed!"

"Wha-?" Kirk trailed. Spock merely raised his eyebrows, unsure of how to proceed with the irate woman.

"Saaay, is this man botherin' ya, my dear?"

Kirk looked up to see that McCoy had arrived with the drinks. He balanced the three glasses carefully and tactfully, yet still gave a warm smile to Allie Mae.

"He been tryin' to get after things he ain't ever gonna see!" she ranted.

McCoy sent a slightly exasperated, very knowing glare at Kirk, but kept up the cordial conversation. "Yeah, he has that effect sometimes. Don't mind it; sometimes I wonder if he can talk any differently."

"Bones!" Kirk exclaimed.

Something seemed to quell in Allie Mae, though. "Did I take your seat?" she asked McCoy politely, moving to get up.

"No, no, not at all," McCoy replied quickly. He set down the drinks. "I'll just pull another one up, say, would you like somethin' to drink as well? While you're at our table?"

"No thank you," she answered, smiling. "I'm in here so long every day that I've lost the taste for it."

"A shame," McCoy said, chagrined. "May I ask you your name, miss?"

"Allie Mae," she replied. "I was just explainin' it to these two men. It's 'Allie' and then 'Mae'… separate."

"Naturally," McCoy commented, as if it wouldn't be any other way.

They sipped their drinks as Allie Mae rattled on an ambling conversation. She talked about the town, her job, and various gossip that was going around. The names meant nothing to the Starfleet men, but they still listened. Spock catalogued everything said, and Kirk found himself growing sleepy in the stuffy heat, but McCoy actually seemed attentive to the conversation proper. The two conversed back and forth about various things until Allie Mae suddenly gripped his arm in excitement.

"Oh, but this is my favorite!" she exclaimed giddily. Spock had trouble following until he realized she was referencing the new song on the piano. Allie Mae was quickly tugging on McCoy's arm, pulling him out of his seat. "Do dance with me, Mr. McCoy! It will be delightful!"

McCoy smiled and set his hat down on the table, looking at Kirk and Spock. "Gentlemen," he acknowledged, a clever twinkle in his eye. They moved off through the crowd and joined a few of the dancing couples.

Kirk turned to Spock. "I think he's going native," he stated.

"The doctor does seem very comfortable in this setting," Spock observed.

"Of course he is, he's got that Southern charm all the ladies rave about."

"I had not noticed."

Kirk sighed and chuckled at the same time.

* * *

McCoy, for his part, easily danced with Allie Mae, despite not having done it in a while. "You're an excellent dancer, my dear," he complimented.

"Thanks," Allie Mae grinned. "Comes with the job description, but I appreciate it. And you're fine, yourself. Ya know I can always tell things about people- been that way since I was an urchin- and you're just as charming as your friend back there… but in a gentlemanly way."

"Thank you," he inclined his head graciously. "Though Jim has had considerable luck in that area."

"Oh, I can see that about 'im," she huffed. "Honest. I'll betcha dozens of gals fall for that boyish face and golden smile- I just ain't one of them. I never did like the command-types."

Briefly McCoy wondered if she somehow figured out that Jim was a captain. Then it quelled at her next words: "I like the moderate, understanding fellas."

"Whatever a lady wishes," he replied.

She giggled. "Why, thank you, kind sir!"

McCoy smiled as they danced some more, turning around the floor. "May I ask a general question, Miss Allie Mae?" he posed politely.

"Sure thing, sugar."

"Do you know of any establishments with rooms to board for the night? My friends and I just got in and would like to rent a place to stay."

"Ohh, that must've been what your friend was talkin' about," she realized. "Though it sounded like he was askin' fer somethin' else. Yeah, we've got a couple rooms free upstairs. You can talk to the owner about stayin'."

"Thank you, I will be sure to do that," he said courteously. Somebody tapped his shoulder and turned to see a red-faced man glaring at him.

"There a reason yer dancin' with my gal?" he fumed dangerously.

"Hal…" she rolled her eyes.

"Only that the lady requested it, and it would be rude not to oblige," McCoy replied. He broke away from Allie Mae and gave a slight bow with his head. "Miss." He acknowledged Hal. "Sir. If you will excuse me." He left to rejoin his friends.

* * *

At the table, Kirk was still watching the bustle of the saloon. There was an obnoxious fellow nearby, who had clearly had too much to drink (or at least Kirk hoped) and just got louder and louder as the day dragged on.

"Cutler's gang had better not show their ugly faces 'round here again!" he announced. "Else I'll put a bullet between their eyes!"

"Ah, shut it, Jeb, we all know that's just a lotta BS. Why, the moment Cutler an' his friends show up you'll be hidin' behind a barrel like the rest of us!"

"Not this time! I'll walk out there and if I wanna shoot them I'll hit 'em! And y'all know I can do it, too!" The man, Jeb, stood up and showed off his pistol. "Why, I can fire at a tin can across town!"

"That's assuming that you'll still be able to hit it," Kirk mentioned nonchalantly, sipping his drink.

Jeb whirled on him. "What'd you say?" Jeb fumed.

"I implied that your mouth is bigger than your ability," Kirk continued, ignoring Spock's warning signals. "People like you are typically all talk and no action."

For a second, nobody moved. Then Jeb suddenly lunged and grabbed a fistful of Kirk's shirt, yanking him up. "You insultin' me, boy?!" he shouted in Kirk's face.

"It's true, isn't it?" Kirk said mildly.

"Well, Mr. High-shots thinks he's better!" Jeb crowed. He released Kirk and shoved him away. "Tomorrow morning! You an' I are gonna square off in an aim contest. Ya dig, ya half-wit?!"

"Sure," Kirk replied smoothly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Enraged that his opponent wasn't getting worked up, Jeb stormed out of the saloon.

McCoy was suddenly standing near Kirk and whistled. "He looked mad enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards. Jim, what did you get yourself into?"

"Just a little shooting competition," Kirk replied innocently.

"Uh-huh. An' who's gun are you gonna use?"

Kirk realized that he just had a phaser. Not the smartest choice in a gunfight for an uncontaminated civilization. "Well… I suppose I'll have to track one down. There's got to be a place where people get all of their arms."

"I suggest the gunsmith, Captain," Spock answered.

"Excellent idea, Spock! We'll go to the gunsmith, get a pistol, and start practicing for the contest. Bones, you find us all a room-"

"Done," McCoy answered.

"Okay, and we'll all meet up out back to practice."

"Jim," McCoy said seriously. "You sound mighty sure of yourself. But what do you think is gonna happen if you lose?"

Kirk stopped, an unsettling weight forming in his stomach. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there," he put off.

"That Jeb sure seemed like a loose cannon-"

"Then I'll just have to win, Bones."

"Riiiight, Jim."

* * *

**Episodes referenced: Return of the Archons, Patterns of Force, A Private Little War, and Spectre of the Gun. And this is NOT Mary Sue! I promise you! Apparently the only way I can even _begin_ to touch romance is through the old-fashioned courtship. :) But most of this story deals with action, I promise- again, a lot of this chapter was just setting the scene. Oh, Jim, you always stir up trouble. Stay tuned for the developing results! And please review, folks!**


	2. Best Aim in the West

**A/N: Well, thank you for the bountiful reviews, folks! I'm certainly enjoying this story! As promised, there is more action in this chapter. Needless to say (yet still necessary, I know, that's confusing) I do not own Star Trek. Probably never will (though I try not to think about that). Do enjoy!**

* * *

Out behind the saloon they stood in front of a fence and water barrel. Kirk and Spock had purchased a gun and were now practicing with a few old tin cans perched up on the fence post. McCoy reclined against the store wall, watching as Kirk nailed can after can after can.

"See, Bones?" he said. "This is easy. There's nothing to worry about."

McCoy shook his head. "Saying it doesn't always make it true, Jim."

"The Captain has always been known for his exemplary aim," Spock put in. "However, in this case your opponent is more familiar with the weapon of choice."

"It's not that hard to use," Kirk mediated. "You point and shoot just like a phaser- though it's got a bit of a kick to it."

"Jim, not that we don't want you to lose," McCoy started. "But what happens if you win? Do you get a prize or somethin'?"

"I'm not sure, Bones," Kirk reflected. "Maybe just the satisfaction of shutting up a loud person."

"Well, hell, if that's all, put my name down," the doctor joked.

Kirk grinned and fired at the last can. It shattered spectacularly under the bullet. A beautiful Roanoke and white-spotted horse tied nearby whinnied.

"Be careful, you're frightening the wildlife," McCoy scolded.

"That is a domestic horse, Doctor," Spock corrected.

"That's enough for today," Kirk decided. "Time for some shut-eye. Bones, Spock?"

The men wordlessly agreed and followed Kirk up to their joint room. It was going to be a big day tomorrow.

* * *

"Jim, you should be worried now."

McCoy and Spock looked out the window from the saloon/hotel room down onto the main street. Instead of tin cans, four bulls-eye targets were getting set up.

"You've got a tinier target."

"Ah, Bones, it's just like phaser target practice," Kirk dismissed, unworried.

McCoy sighed and stretched, grabbing his hat from the top of a dresser. "I hope you're right about this."

The three men walked out onto the street proper. A small crowd was milling around already, watching as two old-timers set up the bulls-eyes for the challenge.

"Are ya ready, boy?" came a sneer. They whirled and saw Jeb standing there, leering.

"Ready to beat you like a drum?" Kirk replied. "Absolutely."

Jeb spat something on the ground. "We'll see about that," he growled. He shoved past them.

"Well, gentlemen," Kirk said. "I guess I'd better go take my position."

"Jim," Spock said softly. "Are you certain this is wise?"

Kirk glanced at the bulls-eyes and where Jeb was twirling his gun. "It looks like we'll find out, Spock," he said. He left to go stand near Jeb.

"Spock," McCoy said, inching closer. "What are we going to do if Jim doesn't win?"

"I am considering that, Doctor," Spock answered, eyebrows knitted together.

"Well, we need some sort of plan, don't we?"

"Yes, Doctor. Now if you will be silent, I may be able to think of one."

The crowd quieted as Jim and Jeb walked out, even with a water barrel. The targets were a distance away from them, and everyone crowded up on the porches to watch the action.

"Well, how are we going about this?" Kirk asked. "You shoot, I shoot?"

"No," Jeb replied, his voice now silky as snake-skin. "As challenger, you may shoot at all the targets first. Then I shall go."

Kirk shrugged and pulled out his pistol. He held it in front of him, squinting down the barrel at the red dot in the center of the bulls-eye. He fired once, and then moved on to each target.

The shots were incredibly good. The most haywire one was only half on white, with the closest mostly on the red (save for a hair). Anyone would be jealous. Kirk stepped back and looked at Jeb, waiting for the man to go.

Jeb roared a laugh and started shooting. It was over in a matter of seconds- but when the dust cleared it showed that Jeb's shots were closer- all of them were mostly in the red, with just a hair on the white.

"There it is!" he crowed. "I'm still the undefeated champion!" Spock and McCoy glanced at each other as Jeb waved his pistol in the air. "It's official!"

"Well, now, hold on a minute," McCoy stepped forward casually before he knew what he was doing. "I'd like to try that. D'you wanna go up against me?"

"Doctor," Spock warned in a low voice.

Jeb stopped ranting and looked at him. "Sure, why not?" he gloated. He pointed at the bulls-eyes. "See if you can beat that!"

"I'll try," McCoy answered. He raised his voice. "Say, does anybody here have a gun that I can borrow? I don't have a pistol."

There were some murmurs in the crowd and a fellow approached him, offering his. McCoy thanked him and walked to the shooting line, getting a feel for the weapon.

"Good luck," Jeb stated, reclining on his heels.

McCoy aimed, and fired. The shot went wild and took off the top of the target. Laughter tittered through the crowd, and Jeb was doubled over.

"Now, hold on a minute," McCoy called. "I ain't familiar with this gun. It's got quite a kick. Jeb, how long have you had that gun you're using?"

Jeb scratched his head and put his hat back on, still red from laughing. "Shoot, I don't know. A long time."

"Exactly. You know that gun. I've had this for just a minute, an' had to get a feel for it." He nodded towards the target. "Now that I know how it shoots I suggest a redo on that target. Fair is fair."

Jeb pondered it, thinking. At last he shrugged. "Why not? You're right, it ain't yer gun. But just this one redo! Then you do all the others like normal!"

McCoy gave one nod and aimed the pistol again. Everyone grew silent as he just stood there, holding his arm out and staring down the barrel at the tiny red dot.

He fired.

In quick succession, he fired at the other targets, only solidly moving his arm to the right as he went down the line. When he finished the old-timers hurried up and checked the targets.

"Well?" Jeb demanded.

"He's hit the red!" one called.

"How much?" Jeb yelled back impatiently.

"All in!"

Whispers instantly zipped through the crowd. Jeb's face twisted and he stormed up to the bulls-eyes himself. Sure enough- each of McCoy's bullets were completely in the central red zone.

When Jeb shouted a cry of anger it just confirmed it for the crowd. Everyone started talking excitedly and cheering at once, and Jim and Spock fought to reach McCoy.

"Bones! Come here," they managed to wrangle him away as the townspeople merely turned and started gossiping with themselves.

"I never knew your aim was that precise," Kirk said, an arm slung over McCoy's shoulders.

"Well, with phasers you don't need to be that on-point, as they've got a pretty wide spread," McCoy commented. "But, Jim, remember that I'm a surgeon. Steady hands and sharp eyes are a requirement."

"Fascinating," Spock mentioned. "It is unusual for those skills to be transferred over to firing a side-arm, but it logically makes sense."

McCoy grinned. "Well, Spock, I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted that you finally find some part of me 'logical'."

They were interrupted when Jeb shouted again. The crowd fell silent and they turned as Jeb marched up and pointed his finger at McCoy. The man looked absolutely livid.

"Noon today," he threatened dangerously. "I wanna see you out here at noon today. You might have a pretty fancy aim, partner, but we'll see how fast yer draw is. And find out who the real gunman in this town is."

He spun viciously on his heel and stalked away. As the crowd erupted once more in excited chatter, McCoy turned to his friends with an open expression on his face.

"What just happened?"

"I believe, Doctor," Spock informed. "You have just been challenged to a 'showdown'."

* * *

Kirk paced the inside of their room, on a long rant. Spock stood by a bedpost, watching, and McCoy sat in a chair, waiting for Kirk to finish.

"-unexpected stunt. I was fine! Did you think about what you were doing when you went up there? And now we've got a showdown to deal with! That was very poor planning, Doc-"

"Jim, don't you know that I can feed you the same argument?" McCoy interrupted tiredly.

"Bones, this isn't about-"

"But it is." McCoy rose and walked up to Jim. "You were fully prepared to win that match. And had you, it would be you challenged to a showdown right now."

"It appears that we needed to be less concerned about losing to Jeb, and more attentive to the consequences of winning," Spock observed.

"Exactly. So Jim, you can't berate me for something you were trying to do!"

"Bones-!" Kirk stopped himself. "Fine. You know what? Forget the match. That's over with." He stopped and sighed, dragging a hand across his face. "Just what are we going to do about the showdown? Noon's not that far away."

"We can always beam back up to the ship," Spock suggested.

"No," McCoy refused. "If we're suddenly gone they'll take that as a sign of cowardice. We can't leave."

"Fine," Kirk was thoughtful. "We still have my pistol. We can go out back and have you practice some with it-"

McCoy was shaking his head. "I won't take the pistol."

Kirk started to get mad again. "Doctor, this isn't a bravery competition!"

McCoy got a glint in his eye as an idea struck him. "No, it's not, Jim. In fact, I do know how to go about this."

The change in attitude threw Kirk for a moment. "What?"

"You fellows don't have to worry about a thaing," McCoy assured them, a grin on his face and his accent thickening. "I've got it all figured out." He moved to the door from the other room.

"Where are you going?"

"Why," McCoy explained. "To buy a bottle of whiskey, of course!"

He pulled and shut the door behind him, leaving a very confused captain and Vulcan alone in the room.

* * *

**Mwa-ha-ha, I leave you all to speculate on McCoy's plan! I warned you- there is much BAMFery going around this story. Happy Fourth to any Americans out there, and happy fourth to everyone else! Please review, folks!**


	3. What Whiskey Can Do

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Thank you for the reviews! I was going to have this updated yesterday, but I was out of town and... yesterday. Yesterday, something amazing came into my possession. It was incredibly perfect, considering the story here that I'm writing but also just... unbelievable.**

**I was given a certified autograph of DeForest Kelley.**

**So (first has another spastic moment) I was rather... incapacitated after that, and unable to get the next chapter written. But I was extra-pumped today and I hope this meets your expectations (as well as tickles the suspense some). Enjoy!**

* * *

As noon approached, the townspeople slowly started gathering once again on their porches. They milled around uneasily, whispering curiously amongst themselves when McCoy dragged a tall crate out into the middle of the street.

At noon sharp Jeb paced around one end of the street, where the bulls-eyes had been. He stalked across it and back like an angry bull, eyeing the space where his opponent would appear.

The space that held a crate of dried apples.

When the crowd finally fell silent, wondering if McCoy would appear, there was a grating, dragging sound. Heads turned towards the saloon, where McCoy was dragging a rocking chair out into the open. Everyone tracked his progress as he maneuvered it beside the crate, so that Jeb saw a chair to the right of what was now meant to be a small table.

With the rocking chair in place, McCoy finally took out what made moving the chair so difficult- he was also carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Precisely and deliberately, he planted the bottle on top of the crate, and then each glass.

"What's he doing?" Kirk whispered to Spock.

Jeb was apparently wondering the same thing, judging by the ridiculously confused look on his face. McCoy lowered himself in the rocking chair and propped his feet up on the crate.

"What the hell are ya doing?" Jeb shouted at him.

"Wouldja like a drink?" McCoy asked politely, though with a strong accent.

"He's up to something," Kirk murmured to Spock.

"What?" Jeb yelled back.

"I said," here McCoy held up a glass. "Wouldja like a drink of whiskey?"

Jeb looked at him like he was absolutely crazy. "What the hell are ya thinkin'?! No, I don't wanna drink of whiskey! Now stand up so we can draw!"

"Are you sure?" McCoy corked open the bottle and poured some in his glass. "It's good stuff… got it straight from the saloon over theah."

"I said no!" Jeb snarled. "Now draw!"

McCoy just shook his head. "I can't do that."

"Whaddya mean? Are ya chicken?"

"It's got nuthin' to do with that," McCoy said calmly, but straightforwardly .

"Then why!?"

McCoy looked at him openly and coolly. "Because I'm a doctor."

The crowd around Kirk and Spock erupted in murmurs and whispers. "A doctor?" some people asked them. They merely nodded, still uneasy about where this was going.

McCoy wasn't done. "An' have you evah heayrd of the Hippocratic Oath?" he addressed Jeb.

The man scratched his head. "It rings a bell."

McCoy nodded. "Right. 'Do no harm'." He settled back in his rocking chair, sipping his whiskey. "So I can't shoot you in right conscience- not an' reconcile with my oath." He shrugged. "So I ain't gonna shoot you."

Silence settled on the people like dust around the town. Jeb hesitated, thrown off by the unusual man before him.

"So now," McCoy said, pouring himself a little more. "You have a choice. You can either draw and shoot me, an unarmed doctor sitting in a rocking chair having some whiskey, or," he set the bottle closer towards Jeb. "You can have a drink with me."

Everyone looked at Jeb. He seemed uncertain, eyes flicking at the crowd and then back to the nonchalant doctor. Nervously, his fingers ghosted over the handle of the gun in his holster. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Jeb walked up slowly to McCoy. It was uncertain what he would do, as his fingers were still twitching.

"_Enterprise_," Kirk whispered discreetly into his communicator. Spock covered for him. "Be prepared to beam McCoy up on my mark."

Jeb stopped before the crate. McCoy had already poured him some whiskey, and the glass sat invitingly on the wood. Everything stilled.

Then Jeb reached out a hand, and accepted the whiskey.

Kirk and Spock (though Spock would never admit it) breathed a sigh of relief. Jeb perched up on the crate and it appeared that he and McCoy were talking. The crowd grew restless and started to fade back into their normal lives, only sparing the weirded-out stare at the odd couple in the middle of the street. Jeb and McCoy stayed there all afternoon, not moving for anyone or anything. It finally took an angry stagecoach driver threatening to hog-tie them to get them out of the way, and by this point both men were thoroughly drunk and giggling like maniacs as they retreated to the saloon.

"Bones always did have a talent for making enemies friends," Kirk mused, watching them.

"Perhaps not a talent that should be made public to Starfleet," Spock replied tactfully.

"Hm? Well, not in so many words, no." Kirk let out a puff of air. "Still, it gets him out of tight scrapes."

"And gets him in just as many," Spock pointed out.

Kirk was about to continue but was interrupted by a curious saloon girl. "Pardon me," she said. She pointed at McCoy. "But what were you calling him?"

"Who? Bones?" Kirk looked over.

"Bones! Oh, that's his name?" she chattered excitedly.

"Well, it's not exactly his na-"

"Thank you!" she called, rushing off to join her friends.

Kirk was left staring after her, slightly startled and amused. "Spock, I think I accidentally started something I can't stop."

"It wouldn't be the first time, Captain," Spock said dryly. They walked over and hoisted McCoy out of his chair, telling Jeb that it was late and time to go to bed. Then they pulled their comrade upstairs to the room to sleep off the life-saving whiskey.

* * *

The night deepened. All the shops in Tripoint closed and were silent. People climbed into bed. Horses were either in the stable or tied up for the night.

A small group of men remained in the saloon, idly playing some poker. Allie Mae's pa, Harold, was dealer, but he and the other fellows had a habit of doing this every night. He glanced up outside to make sure that the Roanoke and white-spotted horse was still tied and sleeping. She was, and he turned back to his friends, dealing out the cards.

"What a crazy day," Rob grunted.

"Still, it's about tiahm some excitement hit this town," Benjamin remarked. "Normally the only thaing we have to look forward to is Cutler's raids."

"At least that's nothin' new," Harold said idly. "But with this fella, I don't know. If it was anyone else I'd be watchin' 'im like a hawk… but if he is a doctor then I'm inclined more to relax."

"Well, for a doctor he sure can shoot, boy!" Andrew, a scrawny eager little fellow, said excitedly. "Did you see the contest this morning? Ol' Rick got so excited he nearly wet himself!"

"Awh, can it, Andrew, nobody wants to hear what everybody's seen."

"I haven't seen it."

It wasn't spoken by anyone at the table. The men whirled and saw a figure by the door, leaning against the wall. No one had seen him creep in, but that was typical of him. Dressed in mostly black with a handlebar mustache to match, his gaze had a cool, dead, piercing look about it. He was a vulture that demanded its food be served up to him.

"Do go on," Cutler invited, stepping closer to the poker table. "I'd like to hear more about this man."

The statement was posed towards Andrew, who gulped nervously when everyone looked at him.

"Well, uh, see, he beat Jeb at a shootin' competition… beat 'im fair an' square with another fella's gun… and then Jeb got so mad that he challenged him to a draw… and when the time came to draw he jus' sat out there and got Jeb to come over an' have some whiskey with 'im!"

"I see," Cutler said, that icy gaze steady on Andrew. No one could see the calculations turning over in this man's mind. Jeb _was_ the best shot in Tripoint, but he was a skinny little lapdog who blew his own horn too much. Cutler didn't have to worry about him. But this newcomer may be a problem. "And what is the name of this man?" he asked, venom concealed by a sickly coat of politeness.

Andrew gulped again. "They call him 'Bones'."

* * *

**And a legend is born. Mwa-ha-ha, I have plans with Cutler. Review and _maybe_ no one will die... maybe (grins evilly). Have a nice day! :)**


	4. Shanghaied in the Night

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews, guys! Some twists, turns and more action in this chapter. With plenty of danger to boot!**

* * *

Their room above the saloon was actually a joint room. There were two beds, one tucked away from the door and the other present when one walked in. McCoy had been deposited in the back bedroom for peace while he slept- and because he snored after drinking. He was still in his boots, vest and hat, though the hat had come off in the night as he rolled around. The empty bottle of whiskey stood on a nightstand.

Kirk was passed out on the other bed, and Spock generally meditated on the rug beside it or, if he did need to sleep, took the small couch. For now, though, he was deep in his Vulcan exercises, processing the events of the day.

Shadows crept along the outside wall. In the darkness, a group of figures roved below a window. Lassoing a structure on the roof, three climbed up stealthily, following the one in black. Expertly using his knife, Cutler pried open the window. They dropped inside the room.

McCoy awoke to a hand clamped over his mouth.

Instantly he lashed out, kicking with his legs. They collided with something, but the hand stayed and he was aware that there were several people grabbing at him. He twisted viciously, managing to free himself some and almost catapulted off of the bed. He tore the hand away and gasped, and then something collided with the back of his skull. McCoy staggered and saw some stars. Did someone just hit him with a pistol?

He was pulled roughly off balance during his moment of weakness. Adjusting to the poor light, McCoy figured there were about 3 or 4 people in the room with him. Not exactly great odds if they intended on remaining silent like this.

Fortunately for him, Spock, in the other room, picked up on the commotion. He rose from the rug, and crossed swiftly to the back bedroom to investigate.

McCoy wrenched one of his arms away and shouted. "Spock!"

But the Vulcan never had a chance to dive into the fray. Cutler whirled in one motion and fired.

McCoy barely saw Spock go down because there was a shattering behind his head and everything snapped black. He slumped, and the remnants of the whiskey bottle were tossed away.

Kirk had bolted out of bed when he heard McCoy shout. The gunshot raised hairs on the back of his neck and he collided with Spock, who was stumbling backwards. Kirk caught him but felt a distinct wetness spilling out of his stomach. The shot had been a direct hit.

His head snapped up to see the figures in the room. McCoy was limp and already dragged out the window. Kirk's heart lurched- wasn't it a steep drop outside? He tried to move with the Vulcan in his arms but the last figure in the room paused at the window and addressed him.

"You're lucky I'm leaving you like this," he stated with cold clarity.

He vanished out into the night.

Kirk swore and rushed to window, glancing out. It was still so dark, but he could make out a flurry of horses. Cursing some more, he ran back to Spock, who was starting to gasp for breath.

"Shit!" He dove for the dresser and dug out a communicator. "_Enterprise, _come in, we need an emergency medical beam-up NOW. Get Dr. M'Benga standing by!"

It was only when the transporter beam started, illuminating the dark room, that Kirk realized he was holding McCoy's communicator.

* * *

"What happened?" M'Benga blared, screeching to a halt inside the transporter room. The gurney crashed through the doors after him.

"He was shot," Kirk explained urgently, still holding Spock. He kept blinking in the sudden light, amazed at how quickly scenery could change due to the transporter. "Somewhere in his stomach."

M'Benga was running the medical tricorder over the Vulcan. "Bullet's still inside. Help me get him on the gurney. Nurse, get that oxygen ready!"

Chapel had already done so and when M'Benga and Kirk hoisted Spock onto the gurney she fitted him with the mask. The doctor immediately began cutting away at Spock's uniform- casting aside the green-soaked fabric.

"Did anybody see this?" he asked as he worked.

It took Kirk a moment to realize he was referencing the green blood. "No, it was too dark. I don't think they noticed his ears, either."

M'Benga nodded. "That's good." He and Chapel cleared away the blood and he got a closer look at the puncture wound. Reaching gingerly with tweezers, he extracted the mushed piece of metal and dropped it on the tray.

"Okay, let's roll him to Sickbay to patch him up."

Chapel nodded, and unlocked the cart's wheels. As they started moving, M'Benga looked up and around the transporter room. He turned a questioning gaze to Kirk. "Where's Dr. McCoy?" he asked.

Kirk's expression tightened. "He's been taken," he said curtly. "Do I have your assurance that Spock will be okay?"

The doctor nodded. "Though near his heart, it didn't hit anything vital. If all goes well he should be back on his feet by tomorrow evening."

"Good. I'm beaming back down to the planet." Kirk marched to the transporter pad and eyed Kyle, who had watched the proceedings with wide eyes. "Are there any life-form readings inside the room where you beamed us out?" Kirk asked him directly, still in full command-mode.

"None, sir," Kyle replied. "It's completely empty."

Kirk nodded. "Beam me back down there. And hurry."

The transporter activated.

* * *

No sooner had Kirk arrived than he rushed to the door out of the room, smacking a wall in the sudden darkness. Cursing, he hit the light switch, found the door, and ran out into the hall, down the stairs into the saloon.

There were a few people milling around uneasily in it. At first he wondered what everyone was doing up at such an ungodly hour, but then he realized that the gunshot must have awakened them.

Kirk vaulted over the rail for the last few steps and surged through the crowd, trying to find the saloon owner.

"Harold?" he shouted. "Harold!"

Someone bumped into him. "Oh, Mr. Jim!" Allie Mae exclaimed. She looked frightened and tense. "What on Earth has happened? There was a gunshot…"

Kirk grasped her shoulders. "Yes, there was a gunshot. It hit one of my friends but he's being tended to. Allie Mae, I need to know: was anyone here tonight? Any group?"

She nodded. "Pa said Cutler stopped by in town. An' Cutler never comes by without his friends. Are they responsible? What'd they do?"

"They have Bones," he answered quickly. He raised his voice. "LISTEN UP!"

Everyone turned towards him, and he stood on a chair so people could see him better. "The Cutler Gang was here," he announced. He gauged the importance of this by the crowd reaction. Everyone stirred and swelled in fright. Okay, so Cutler's gang really was that bad.

"They shot one of my friends," Kirk continued. "Mister, uh, Smith." Best not to introduce a weird name to this society like 'Spock'. "And they've abducted Bones McCoy." The room erupted in chatter, the people now outraged and scared. Kirk quieted them, speaking even louder.

"I've decided that it's time to put a stop to this madness," he declared. "So I'm going after Cutler and his band of outlaws to get Bones back and bring them to justice. But I need a horse, and I need riders." His gaze leveled the crowd- by now most of the town had been drawn to the saloon. "Who's willing to go with me?"

There was a moment of silence and then someone stuck his hand up. "I am," the man said.

"Me too!" came another shout. Soon many hands were in the air, and at least half the men present volunteered to chase down the menace to the town.

"Prepare what you need for a long desert trek!" Kirk shouted over the roar. "We leave at dawn!" He dropped down from the chair as the crowd cheered in excitement, and began moving to form a posse.

"Jim! Jim," Allie Mae caught his elbow in the confusion. "Are ya sure you know what yer doing? Cutler and his men are real nasty folk!"

"They need to be taken down, Miss Allie Mae," Kirk assured her. "And I'm determined to do it now."

She shook her head. "I'm just warnin' ya. They make all of Jeb's fights look like prayer meetin's!"

Kirk appreciated her concern, he truly did. "We'll be able to handle ourselves," he reassured her.

She hesitated. "And… Mr. McCoy?"

Kirk felt a grim smile settle on his face. "He's got to hold on."

* * *

"Well, this is dandy."

It wasn't every day that one awoke with a hangover and near-fractured skull while slung over a horse to stare at jostling desert ground. With one's hands tied in front of him. Vaguely, he wondered where his hat was. It sure was sunny. Which led him to his next question: how long had he been out?

McCoy squirmed uncomfortably on the horse, trying to find a way to give his ribs some relief. Somebody was beside him, or rather behind him, judging by their positions on the horse, and braced a hand on his back. "Hey, I think he's awake," the person called.

The horse stopped and McCoy slid off, falling onto his back on the coarse ground. The movement jarred his aching head, and blinked up at tall figures in the sunlight.

"Well, who in the blazes are you?" he inquired gruffly, unsure where he was and who these people are.

The one in black was still atop his horse, and crossed his hands over the saddle. "I'm Cutler," he said mildly, but with an undercurrent of danger. "Are you Bones?"

McCoy shrugged, clambering awkwardly to his feet. "I suppose that's one name for me."

Cutler sneered. "I don't play games, here." He pulled out his pistol. "Are you the man known as Bones?"

McCoy eyed the gun, his head throbbing under a desperate memory. Someone had been shot with that pistol. Was… was Spock shot? He couldn't remember.

"I have a friend who calls me Bones," he answered slowly, but honestly. "And he does talk a lot. It is not inconceivable that that is the name I am known by in Tripoint."

Cutler looked satisfied and holstered his gun. "Very well, then, Bones," he said. "You can either get on a spare horse and ride with us, or, if you misbehave, we'll tuck you back the way you were and saddle you with Joe." He indicated the man whose horse McCoy had slipped off of.

Well, he certainly didn't want to go back to riding on his stomach. At least if he had his own horse he was closer to escaping. But there was the problem of his bound wrists.

"You expect me to ride like this?" he held up his joined hands.

Cutler just kept looking coolly at him. "I expect you to cooperate."

McCoy shrugged. "O-kay, then, just don't be surprised if I fall behind."

Somebody walked a horse over, and he recognized the Roanoke and white-spotted one that had been tied near the saloon. Feeling a surge of sympathy for the mare, he petted her before climbing up onto the saddle. Fumbling with reins, by the time he got a reasonable grip on them he realized he was flanked and effectively surrounded by Cutler's men. He sighed. They were going to be sure he didn't fall behind.

"Hey, whaddya exactly want with me, anyway?" he called over to Cutler.

Cutler stopped his horse and paused, turning back towards him. McCoy found that he didn't like the frosty gaze, coupled with his well-spoken manners.

"I intend to learn more about you," he stated in a dead voice. "And after that…" he shrugged. "Who knows?"

They set off, unease filling McCoy. Tripoint was nowhere in sight. Instead, they were closer to the mesas they had seen in the distance upon arrival. There had to be a way out of this. He didn't have his communicator- that had been stashed in a dresser drawer. Pressing his right arm against his side, he felt relieved when he felt the weight of the medkit in his vest. It was still with him. That was good.

In fact, he realized as an idea struck him. That would be how he got out of this mess.

* * *

**Ah, yes, the good doctor always has a plan. And poor Spock can't catch a break; sorry about that, Spock. Please review!**


	5. A Legendary Hero

**A/N: Well, sad to say that this is the end. But there's still action and whatnot! I want to thank you all for reviewing! They're so wonderful and supportive! :) Well, I won't keep you waiting any longer: here it is, the last chapter. Please review!**

* * *

Kirk surveyed the group ready to ride out with him. He had expected a large posse, but instead got a small army. A feeling of satisfaction rose within him. They weren't soldiers, but they were fighters with a cause. That would do very well.

He'd tracked down one of the old-timers who had a hunch about where Cutler and his men always retreated to. Apparently there was a network within the mesas that made it quite easy for one to disappear.

"Alright!" he shouted, getting everyone's attention. He rode his horse up to the front, a lovely chestnut stallion called Rudy. The sun was rising behind him, and so it made a veritable picture of command.

"We ride west! They've got a huge lead on us, so they'll probably be at their camp whenever we arrive. We'll need to storm it, rescue Bones, and take the outlaws prisoner. If they die," Kirk sighed and shrugged. "It will be assumed that that couldn't be helped. But prisoners are preferable- we want justice, remember?"

A resounding cry echoed through the crowd. Kirk had the old-timer join him at the front to lead the way, and they set off.

That had been hours ago. They trooped on, not riding at full tilt because it would wear out the horses faster in this heat. The mesas seemed to be shrinking away instead of getting closer.

"We prob'ly won't make it till nightfall," the old-timer said to him. "If it were night we could just ride the horses hard 'n' quick, but that's a bad idee in direct sunlight. What say you?"

Kirk didn't like a night attack. It would be dark to see, and in those cases Cutler's men would have the advantage because they knew the mesas better. Then again, if they waited till dark they could sneak up on the camp, as well as avoid the sun in their eyes. It was becoming bothersome already.

"I agree," Kirk stated. "Circle up; we'll take a water break and reconfigure our strategy."

* * *

McCoy was annoyed. His wrists chafed and they _still_ wouldn't untie him. Never mind that he'd had to ride, dismount, and eat like that. But sleep? What did they think he was going to do?

"Look," he said icily, glaring at Cutler. "I'm flattered that you think I'm a dangerous enough foe to keep tabs on like this. But in all honesty, _what_ can I do? I don't have a gun, and you seem smart enough to not let any guns near me, so what are you so afraid of?"

"Why do you insist on getting untied?" Cutler replied dryly.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Can't you see? I've been wearin' 'em all day and they hurt and I stretch in my sleep so I would like what minimal comfort I can get while restini' on this hard turf." He kicked the ground. "Is that really too much to ask? I'll be asleep, anyways."

Cutler spat on the ground. "Fine. Untie him, but watch him. I want a rotating guard on the edge there. Make sure no one leaves," he looked pointedly at McCoy. "An' keep an eye out in case anyone from town comes by tryin' to get him. Or us."

Everyone settled down for the night, except for the guard, of course. McCoy lay on his back with his hands resting on his torso, looking at the stars. Pretty, unfamiliar constellations. Never mind that, he had to stay awake if this was going to work.

There were five of them, including Cutler. He could take care of them easily enough. But he'd somehow have to reach the guard.

The man closest to him had started to snore loudly. Good. That would cover any noise he made. Gingerly, McCoy reached a hand inside his vest, opening his medkit.

He knew exactly how it was organized and could visualize where everything was. He knew what canister was already in his hypospray and what canisters he needed. Quickly and deftly, he made the necessary adjustments and rolled onto his side, facing the snoring man.

There was a barely audible hiss as the hypospray depressed against his shoulder.

McCoy lay still, to cover that he had done anything. At first he grew concerned when the snoring quieted, but then it resumed with even more gusto. He sighed in relief. The sedative was working.

In the darkness, McCoy shifted and hypoed the next person. Then the next. Then Cutler and the last one. At last he stood up shakily, making sure they were all out.

The guard whirled when he approached him. McCoy held out a staying hand. "Easy, easy, I'm not trying anything." He walked closer and leaned against the scraggly tree. "Can't sleep."

The guard was very young, maybe 18 or 19. The boy looked at him suspiciously. "Are ya sure?"

"Yup." He looked out across the mesa. "I don't suppose you have a light or somethin' do you? I normally have one before I go to sleep… calms my nerves."

"Ah," the youth nodded sympathetically. "No, but Walt has some cigars he keeps with 'im. Mebbe he'll let ya have one."

"Oh," they turned back to look at the 'sleeping' men. "Which one's Walt?"

The boy shifted his gun to point. "See the big one by the rock there? Right… over there? See?"

McCoy acted on his distraction. The hypospray made contact with his back shoulder and the boy gasped as the sedative pumped through.

"Sorry, son," McCoy whispered as he lowered him to the ground. "Sleep now."

McCoy maneuvered through the darkness to the horses. He needed to get back to Tripoint.

He spied the Roanoke and white-spotted horse. That had been tied to the saloon, wasn't it? He recalled the tale that horses could always find their way home. Yes, this would do very nicely.

He cut the mare free and quickly mounted a separate stallion. "Go on home, girl," he urged the mare. "We'll be right behind ya."

As if understanding him, they moved off.

* * *

Kirk waited for the signal. The old-timer was peering around a rock on the mesa. Raising a hand, he motioned them to come forward. Kirk sucked in a breath. It was time to move.

Everyone burst into the denizens' den. "Hold it!" Kirk shouted. "Get your hands up!"

Nobody moved.

Confused, Kirk stopped the raiding party. It looked like everyone was asleep. No way would outlaws still be sleeping right after the noise they'd made.

Sliding off his horse, Kirk approached the men, one hand on his phaser just in case. He nudged one with a boot. He didn't move. Kirk shook him. Nothing.

Realizing something else, he quickly searched all the unconscious bodies. Sure enough: Bones wasn't among them.

"Well," he said, still reeling from the unexpected change yet nevertheless proud and unsurprised for his friend. "It looks like Bones has already been here."

"How's that?" someone asked, still confused that there was no battle. "Are they dead?"

"No, just sedated," Kirk mentioned. He corrected himself hastily. "I mean unconscious. He has ways of making that happen."

"So where is he?" someone else asked.

"Probably going back to town," Kirk inferred. "We've missed him." He moved back to his horse. "Let's tie these men up now while they're not giving us any trouble. We can at least accomplish part of our mission: capturing these folks and bringing them back for trial."

A cheer went up and several volunteers set about tying up Cutler and his men to carry back on the horses. Kirk remounted Rudy and patted his mane. Man and horse turned around to gaze off of the mesa.

"I hope you're doing alright, Bones."

* * *

McCoy breathed a sigh of relief when Tripoint came into view. They'd made it. It had been a long night, and now the sun was peeking over the horizon. Those mesas were far too far away for sensible travel. Then again, that just reaffirmed that Tripoint was in the middle of nowhere.

He had planned to return to the saloon and find the owner of the mare. What he _hadn't_ planned on was a mob.

"Oh my gawsh he's back!"

People swarmed McCoy, cheering for him, and reaching up to pat him. McCoy tried to stave off the crowd, murmuring thank-you's and trying to figure out what the big deal was.

"He's here? Oh thank good- Maybeline!"

From his higher viewpoint, McCoy saw Allie Mae rush forward, stopping on a detour for the Roanoke and white-spotted mare. "Mr. McCoy, you brought back Maybeline!" she cried. "Oh, I can't thank ya enough!"

"Well," McCoy half-tried. He slid off the horse and was swarmed some more, but still managed to make it to Allie Mae. "Well, ah, you're welcome. Though I'll admit, I can't figure out why everyone's so excited."

Allie Mae's eyes bugged. "Can't figure it out? Why, half the town left to go an' rescue you! Only now you show up bringing back Maybeline- she was the prize-winnin' horse at the fair, didn't you know? Brought in a lot of money and worth even more. An' not only did you bring 'er back from the folks who stole 'er, but it's clear you escaped because the posse ain't back, _plus_ the fact that," she pointed. "You're ridin' _Cutler's_ horse!"

McCoy turned back to look at the stallion, bewildered. "I am?"

Allie Mae was practically giddy. "Yer a hero, Bones McCoy!"

The crowd surged in agreement. "What? No, no," McCoy protested. He held up his hands. "I'm just a country doctor…" but the crowd was having none of it. They kept clapping him on the back and cheering.

"Doctor!"

"Spock?" McCoy tried to call. He twisted to get a glimpse of the Vulcan. A smile broke out on his face. "You're okay!"

"Indeed," Spock replied over the roar. "I returned yesterday afternoon. I also discovered that the townspeople are quite," he hesitated. "Taken with you."

McCoy grinned, slightly embarrassed. "I can tell."

He could barely move through the tight throng of people, and nearly fell over when a couple folks tried to pick him up.

"Bones!"

He looked up at the shout, and saw Kirk ride in with several people and horses behind him. "Bones?"

"I'm here, Jim!" he shouted.

"Do you need help?"

"Ah…" McCoy tried to get around to Jim.

"How did you escape, Doctor?"

"It must have been scary."

"Did you show 'em what yer made of?"

"Oy!" Some of Kirk's riders had joined the fray to put in their two cents. "We got them Cutler gang! Right 'ere on them horses. An' still out cold from whatever Doctor Bones did to 'em!"

This of course piqued the crowd's curiosity and they bombarded McCoy with new questions. "How did you do it? How did you singlehandedly take them all out and leave them for the posse to collect?"

"Well, I'm a doctor, and I prescribed them some rest."

The crowd chuckled, but despite their continued persistence that was all McCoy would say. He did manage to wrangle away from the center and catch up with Kirk and Spock.

"Jim, this is a fine place, but I'm bone tired an' about had my fill of it," McCoy commented.

"Are you sure that you want to leave before the festivities, Bones?" Kirk joked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"It would be for the best, Captain," Spock mentioned, siding with McCoy. "Do not forget there is a non-interference directive we must follow. And, judging by this spectacle, we have interfered enough already."

"Aw, Spock, you're gonna hit me with the Prime Directive?" McCoy complained. "After everything I've just been through!?"

"Doctor, as I previously stated, I have observed that this town is quite taken with you," Spock reminded him. "In a rather disturbing way."

"Well, as long they don't start building statues of Bones, I think we're fine, Spock," Kirk stepped in, amused.

McCoy slapped him. "That's nonsense an' you know it! Buildin' statues…"

They were interrupted by a poignant commotion nearing them.

"-but I don't think you should-"

"Oh, stuff it, Hal!" Allie Mae spat, smacking him. The surprised man backed off, and Allie Mae continued on her path to the _Enterprise_ men.

"Glad to see y'all are chipper!" she said brightly, acknowledging each of them in turn. "Jim. Bones. Smith."

"What?" Spock said.

"Um, yes!" Kirk said quickly. He smiled his charming, golden smile. "It's been a long day and night."

"I'll say!" Allie Mae piped. "What y'all need now is some relaxation! I'm sure y'all can get in the saloon- we're offerin' ya discounts an' there's gonna be cake-"

"I'm afraid we have to be on our way," McCoy broke in gently.

Allie Mae stopped. "So soon?"

"Yes," he replied softly.

"Well, ya can't leave!" she exploded. "Ya only just got back! We need ta celebrate! We need ta-"

"Allie," McCoy placated.

She stopped. "So, y'all are leavin'… now?"

It was Kirk who nodded and replied. "Yes."

She was quiet a moment, studying her shoes, but when she looked back up there was a kindling fire in her eyes.

"Well, my pa always said I was an' impetuous gal."

"What?"

She lunged and was suddenly was kissing McCoy hard on the lips. Breaking away with a sneaky smile and impish glint in her eyes, she said "Just somethin' for the mem'ry. Good journey, folks," and faded back into the crowd.

McCoy seemed just as stunned as Spock (who was trying to figure where in the world the woman got the idea to do something like that) and Kirk seemed mildly disgruntled. "Okay, Bones, it's official: we're leaving _now_."

McCoy recovered quickly and flashed a grin at Kirk. "What, _jealous_, Captain?"

"No," Kirk replied quickly, too quickly.

"Well, I'm sure even Spock will point out that odds say that you don't romance a lass _every_ time," McCoy continued on in his drawling, mischievous manner. They were walking down the town to round behind the saloon.

"The odds do allow for that possibility," Spock mentioned.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk replied dryly. "But seriously Bones, you beat a man in an aim contest, invite him for whiskey instead of a showdown, and suddenly you're a hero?"

"There is also the fact, Captain, that Dr. McCoy escaped from a well-known gang of outlaws, bringing back a prize horse and the head outlaw's horse in the process, while leaving said outlaws in a state of unconsciousness for you and the other men to retrieve," Spock pointed out.

"Whose side are you on, Spock?" Kirk cried, throwing his hands up.

"I was unaware that there were any sides to begin wi-"

"Save it, Spock," McCoy chuckled. "Let him rant. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy that things went right for once on a planetary mission."

"I do not consider your getting kidnapped and my getting shot as-"

"I said _save it, Spock!_"

This time it was Kirk who laughed. "Finally, things are getting back to normal." They'd reached a secluded spot behind the town and Kirk opened his communicator. "_Enterprise,_ three to beam up."

* * *

The Starfleet men went on to deal with their daily lives and bluff out of the Prime Directive on the case of Drius III. For the folks down on Sandy, however, well, word spread quickly. Tripoint was between three large cities, and there were several high officials coming and going to deal with the Cutler trial, and the tale spread from the townsfolk. Early versions were dismissed, because how could fellows show up in the desert without any horses and leave the same way? But then even Cutler and his band of outlaws swore it happened, too, and folks began to pay more attention to the Legend of Bones McCoy.


End file.
